Ivy House
by lilysxx
Summary: Just because the battle ended, doesn't mean the story does. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and George are trying to rebuild after the devastating loss they suffered in the final battle to defeat Voldemort. They congregate in Ivy House, a place clean of memories of their dead, as they try to retrieve the people they once were. T for language, slight AU
1. Chapter 1

Fangs. A snake, then half of one. Screaming, somewhere, everywhere, all at once everything is screaming and tearing and pain and everyone is bellowing the same thing. _You. You. YOU!_

You are the reason I am orphaned.

Amputated.

Dead.

It's all your fault, Harry fucking Potter, the boy who fucking lived. Hundreds of pairs of gaunt, mottled hands and glassy, milky eyes swam in front of Harry's vision as the shouts got louder, pounding against him so loudly they bruised his skin. All the things he broke, the unfixable things like lives and hopes and families, they chased him. The hands were around his wrists, his ankles, pulling him apart.

He closed his eyes and waited for the pain. Finally some suffering, finally some damage, finally he could be like everybody else. His limbs began to break away from his body and the agony was euphoric...

Harry snapped awake. His bed was wet and embarrassingly warm. Not just sweat this time.

Molly taught him a spell to clean the sheets, a quick charm that only works on enchanted linens. She confided that she had used it for the twins even until the age of ten. She had choked on the word 'twins'. Harry had held her hand and felt a small tearing in his stomach. So many people to bleed for.

Harry shook the memory from his head but the dream still lingered in the air around him, begging Molly's story along with all the others. He sighed as he uttered the charm- wandless. The first few nights Ginny had shared the bed with him, woken him from the worst dreams, rocked him until he slept again. That was until the bed got damp and he wouldn't let her in anymore.

But the bed looked too cold now, too empty without her. He shook his head and shuffled into his slippers, abandoning the prospect of sleep for the night.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and George had found themselves homeless in the aftermath of the battle. It was not so much the consequence of the lack of a home, but an abundance of them. Shell Cottage, Hagrid's hut, the Tonks' house, Grimmauld place, places and people with coaxing smiles and warming beverages trying to make everything alright, all these claimed themselves home. Arthur Weasley had even been talking about rebuilding the Burrow.

But those places were tainted. Those places hurt. The spirits of the lost drenched their walls, every corner reeked of memories and regret. Everywhere they looked they saw another ghost and Harry felt himself rip somewhere new.

So they had moved here, to Ivy House, a cottage on the outskirts of a muggle village in Norfolk where nobody knew their names or asked if they were doing ok. The floors were wooden and a nightmare for splinters and the ceilings were so low George had taken in his more flippant moods to wearing a pillow on his head, but it was clean of the aching tragedy which had plagued the rest of their world. It was home.

Harry headed down to the kitchen, checking the time on the grandfather clock in the hall that had come with the house. _Like the grandfather clock in the Burrow_ , Harry thought with a pang, _a clock with two less hands._ He shivered, shook it off, realised he hadn't even read the time. It was a quarter past two.

There was a light in the kitchen already, a balled up copy of the _Prophet_ softly burning in the centre of the room. They didn't read it anymore, all it contained were obituaries and celebrations- either too real or not real enough. Mostly they kept it for kindling, stacks of copies by the fireplace, smiling and waving, ignorant to their own fate.

"'Mione?" Harry called out tenderly into the yellow darkness. She had probably already heard his slippers at the threshold, but everyone was jumpy these days and it paid to warn of your presence. Hermione was sitting at one of the stools on the kitchen counter, a muggle paperback in hand. Her hair was characteristically matted, even more so these days, what with all the tossing and turning in bed. She looked up as Harry stepped into the room, gesturing to her book.

"Reading," she said as if it needed explanation.

"Thirsty," Harry replied. No need to tell the truth in Ivy House. Everybody knew why you couldn't sleep. "Want anything?"

"Tea if you're making." He wasn't, but he filled the kettle anyway and pulled out the box of Earl Grey and two mugs. He crossed to the fridge, grabbing the milk and the chocolate powder that sat on top and got to work heating it up for himself over the stove in a small saucepan. Stirring, he felt almost as if he were back in Potions.

 _Another half spoon of cocoa, Potter, not everything in your life has to be inadequate._ Harry shivered at the thought of Snape. Then stopped thinking of Snape, before he could feel the pain of it. Another set of footsteps, a voice at the threshold.

"It's only me."

Ginny had been the best throughout the aftermath of the battle. At first Harry could only see her as the confused first year he had saved from the Chamber of Secrets, innocent and incapable, needing his protection. He had refused to let her in, to let her see the horrors that plagued the back of his eyelids. Maybe he had hoped she would run away, just in case he hurt her like he had hurt all the others, but she had been patient with him, tending to everyone else's wounds until he was ready to have her look at his. He was glad she stayed.

She crossed the room to where Harry stood by the stove and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder as he stirred peacefully. The two swayed gently, taken in their own tide.

"What are you doing up?" Harry asked quietly, to the saucepan.

"I smelt chocolate," she explained. Harry huffed a laugh and turned, brushing away the hair that had fallen in front of Ginny's face and inhaled as he kissed her, sucking the memory into the deepest chambers of his heart. He tried to ignore the redness in her eyes as they came back up for air. She'd tell him when she needed to.

Hermione shifted in her chair and the creak broke the intimacy between them. They looked apologetically towards her but she hardly glanced up from her book, a small smile playing on her lips. Tonight wasn't a night to tease, nobody was going to blame them for their small comforts.

The kettle whistled and Ginny unlatched herself from Harry, making herself useful as she poured Hermione's tea and pulled another mug from the shelf for herself, seating herself in the stool beside her puffy-haired friend. Nobody spoke, savouring the warmth of the room and the cool flagstones and the crackling orange light that threw dreamlike shadows on the wall. Harry poured himself and Ginny some hot chocolate, leaving the rest in the saucepan for when Ron came down, and they drank together, Ginny's head in Harry's chest.

All five were in the kitchen by the time the sun rose. Ron and Harry washed the mugs and saucepan whilst Hermione and Ginny set the table for breakfast, scrambled eggs, fried bacon. George sat at the table, watching with dead eyes. It took him time to warm up to the day, to find himself amongst the pieces of the nightmares that racked him. It was best to leave him alone until then.

"Errol's been I think," Hermione murmured to Ron, rounding on him with a dishcloth to relieve Harry of drying duties, "there were some feathers through the letterbox. Your mum sent a postcard."

"What did it say?" Ginny asked finally when it became clear that Ron was too fixated with chasing the suds out of the final mug with the jet of the tap.

"They're reopening Hogwarts in September, that was the big news. Charlie's gone back to Egypt a bit now that Bill promised to help your dad with the Burrow, she said some other stuff too but I don't remember it now..." Hermione faltered. It seemed the boys weren't in the mood for reality yet. Finally, she took the mug from Ron's hands and dried it, leaving it upturned on the rack.

"She misses you, Ronnie. And your siblings. Won't you go see her?" Ron met her eyes.

"Yeah, no yeah I will, I mean..."

"He's not ready to be nagged quite yet," murmured George from the other end of the room, and for some reason none of them could quite explain it was the funniest thing George had ever said. The room filled with relieved laughter, followed by the clattering and fumbling of breakfast being served.


	2. Chapter 2

The day was warm, Harry kept forgetting that it was summer. Somehow with all the darkness clouding all the people he loved it seemed inappropriate for the sun to be out, for the sky to be blue, for the air to be dry and inviting. He walked with Ginny on the beach, enjoying the cool sea breeze and the tang of salt tickling his nose.

"Ok, ok next challenge. This time you have to find a perfectly round one, an exact sphere," Ginny was giddy with forgetfulness, tied up in a childhood game they had only just discovered. The two had searched for pebbles for hours, one with a hole all the way through, one which was completely flat, one with the sharpest edge... at one point Harry had tried to cheat, using a summoning charm to find one that was completely black, a charm that Ginny had had to interrupt as dozens of obsidian rocks pelted them from all directions.

"What do I get if I win?" he asked.

"This game doesn't work on a rewards basis," Ginny frowned.

"Well then," Harry sighed, snatching Ginny's hand and pulling her into him, "it's a stupid game." He tried to kiss her but she ducked back.

"You didn't seem to think so when you found one shaped like an egg." Harry laughed and tried to catch her on the mouth again but she twisted out of his grasp.

"A perfectly round one, remember? Bet I can find it first."

Harry harrumphed and stooped down, trying to find her pebble. It had been like this since they got here. Ginny needed Harry, needed his arms around her, his lips on her cheek and the tip of her nose, but she tended to recoil when he kissed her, she didn't want him like he needed her. Not now.

"Give her time," Hermione had said, when Harry had finally confided in her. He knew it was usually a subject of 'guy talk', but when the only other two guys in the house were your girlfriend's older brothers the field of what can be said becomes incredibly limited.

"I know, it's just she's always there and she's always so _close._ It's driving me mental." Hermione sighed.

"How do you think I feel? Ron's barely touched me since the Funeral," they referred to the Funeral with a capital 'f', the collected affair that had seen the burial of all the corpses at Hogwarts, student, auror and death eater alike, "They're different to us Harry, we're used to living without families, family's all the Weasleys have ever had. Now there's a whole chunk missing, and they're just trying to cope."

Harry nodded, "Why are you always right?" Hermione rested her head on his shoulder and laughed.

"I wish I weren't."

Ginny found the pebble first, of course. "It's not fair," Harry protested, "my eyesight's impaired."

"Shut up you bowtruckle, you're wearing your glasses." Harry chuckled.

"I guess that means you win something then," he conceded, "anything you want..."

"Harry don't, please," Ginny said, as if she knew. He acted wounded, even though he knew playing innocent would get him nowhere.

"What, Gin?"

"Don't make me feel bad for this, ok. I just can't now, I want to but I can't." She threw herself on the ground, amid the pebbles of the beach. Slowly, and at a safe distance away, Harry settled next to her. He didn't want her to feel pressure, but he didn't want to let the subject go again. It was like a dream that kept escaping, once it was gone who knew how long it would be until it returned.

"But if you want to..." he began, watching as Ginny squinted her eyes shut at the sound of his voice. She was biting back tears. The wind carried her scent to him, honeysuckle and chocolate milk, "then what's stopping you?"

"It feels wrong," she admitted. Harry searched her eyes in confusion, waiting for her to go on. She didn't speak.

"Are you scared?"

"A little, not really. I want to be with you it's just..." They hadn't noticed themselves leaning in. By the time Ginny was speaking now, her forehead was resting against Harry's and the smell of her was leaving him dizzy. His hands ached and he dug them into the ground, trying to shake them of the need to reach out to her, grab great fistfuls of her and lose himself in her breathlessness.

"Just what?" Harry asked. They had forgotten themselves, minutes had passed, she was speaking against his lips.

"I'm just so _happy_ with you. It feels so wrong to be happy like this..."

The words ran through them like stunning spells. They fell backwards into the beach, thrown by the weight of shared guilt and grief, shaking like autumn leaves tossed from trees by a harsh wind. Ginny found Harry's shirt and clutched at it, steadying herself. He locked his arms around her even when she tried to pull away as the tears took over.

"I miss them," she sobbed.

"I know," he replied, "but you've got to live, Gin. We've got to live if they can't."

Ginny trembled like a violin note in his arms. "I don't want to," she said in her smallest voice, "sometimes I don't want to."

Harry held his gurgling godson in his arms and thought about what Ginny had said. He knew exactly how she felt, he understood all of it. Afraid to be happy, afraid to never be happy again, afraid to die but afraid to live. He gazed at little Teddy in his arms and wondered what it would be like to be so innocent, so fragile and trusting of the world around you. He wondered what it was like to be held by his father. Neither of them would ever know.

Teddy giggled and blinked, his eyes glazing over with Evans green. Harry was taken aback by the accuracy of the child. Did his eyes really look so sad?

Shaken by the image of himself, Harry quickly thrust Teddy back into his cot, by the picture of his parents, where he took on the appearance of his father once again.

"Terrifying isn't it? He has no idea he's showing you exactly what you don't want to see." Andromeda Tonks stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Harry gave her a small smile.

"It's just a little odd. We don't keep mirrors in Ivy House. George..."

"I know," Andromeda cut him off, sparing him the explanation. "Sometimes it hurts to look at Teddy too. He can look so much like his mother when he wants to. And his grandfather."

Harry nodded, picking Teddy up again. Again, the boy's face changed to mirror him. This time, he tried not to flinch. He told himself that he came to the Tonks' to be an adult, to take care of a like soul, another child orphaned by this war. In truth, he came to feel like a child, to feel Andromeda's gaze on him like a chiding professor or a kindly aunt.

Teddy broke the silence first, his little face contorting into something like discomfort as he prepared himself to scream.

"Oh no, I know that look," Andromeda warned, taking the infant from Harry and hoisting him onto her shoulder, "this one needs food. Stat. Harry, do you mind warming up the formula?"

Teddy suckled milk from his bottle as Harry sipped at a butterbeer and Andromeda a fragrant pink tea.

"Well go on then, Harry, why'd you come?" Harry took another pensive sip, cheeking the liquid and draining it bit by bit, savouring the sweetness at the corner of his tongue.

"Wanted to see that monster," he confessed, "just remind myself what I'm still doing here."

"Is it as bad as that?" she asked. Andromeda always knew how to ask the right questions. Harry could see why Sirius had loved her. She had all the gentleness of a mother without the judgement, but more wisdom than an older sister. She reminded Harry of Ginny during her better moments.

"Sometimes," he confessed, taking another swig. "I thought once Voldemort was gone the world would stop being afraid. But everyone..." Harry checked himself before the blame started, "It's like we all just went out and found something new to be scared of."

"Harry, darling," Andromeda slid a hand across the kitchen table to place over Harry's comfortingly, "we're only human. We never stop being afraid."

"I can't move on."

"Nobody's asking you to yet. But eventually, when the time is right, it's ok. We're not forgetting them by making new memories. We're honouring them."

"I s'pose."

"That's the spirit," her tone was sardonic. "Anyways, I hear this one may even get to study at Hogwarts when he's old enough."

"Yeah, I uh, I think McGonagall's taking it over now? That's what Hermione reckons anyway."

"Then the school's in safe hands," Andromeda decided with a confident nod. Teddy cooed and giggled in agreement, and for once Harry felt a genuine smile slide across his face.


	3. Chapter 3

The _crack_ seemed to shake the house, an ominous warning of what was to come. The wind picked up, whistling through the clinging ivy like a boy with a bell. _Wolf! WOLF!_

The young wizards had hardly enchanted the house. They had denied themselves the fear. There were a few charms to keep the muggles far and unsuspicious, and a simple and easily breakable cloaking spell that Hermione had insisted on, but all in all if someone wanted to find them it would be easy enough.

So when the crack sounded, a chill went down everyone's spine all at once.

Harry grabbed the closest hand- Hermione's- whilst Ron and George flung themselves around their little sister. They had been in the living room, debating over a game of wizard's chess, when they heard the sound. Now they were all moving slowly towards the front door, up to which a pair of shoes was clicking and clacking against the gravel. Slowly, Harry pulled his wand from his waistband. He watched the others do the same.

A low, persistent pulsing was the only sound for a moment as the footsteps reached the landing. Heartbeats.

Then, a rap at the door, and a voice.

"Ronald? George? Ginny?" Three ginger heads turned wildly to face each other, mouths agape, eyes aghast.

"Oh fuck," Ginny whispered, " _Mum!_ "

"Ginevra! Don't swear!" came Molly Weasley's retort from the other side of the door. The panic, rather than being abated, seemed to have solidified with the confirmation of her presence. Ginny started running her hands through her unbrushed hair, Ron was doing up his shirt, Hermione uttered household charms under her breath, doing dishes, folding laundry...

Harry opened the door before Molly could become even more ruffled. They hadn't told her- or anyone- where they were retreating for the summer, and she had promised to respect their privacy (in response to which Ron had mouthed 'bollocks'), but her postcards and letters were becoming even more frequent, laced with small pleas that her children come home. 'I wish you could see it', 'of course, it's not as loud without you'.

She threw herself around Harry before the door was even fully open, burying him in her layers of coat and cardigan and other miscellaneous knitwear. It was as if she hadn't realised it was summer, either.

"Harry darling! It's so good to see you!"

To say Molly looked better was not to say she looked good. The last time Harry had seen her was at the Funeral, where grief had scoured her out so much there was no woman left, the husk of Molly Weasley rather than the full thing, the boxes of her boys equally inanimate as she was inside.

The hollows under her eyes were shallower now and the red in her cheeks had returned, but her hair was still limp, her clothes sagged off her. She was still mourning, just like everybody else.

As she stepped over the threshold Harry noticed half a bottle of firewhiskey balanced on a pedestal where someone had perhaps intended to keep a statue but had never gotten round to buying one. He lunged for it, tucking it into the loose waistband of his trousers and covering it with his baggy jumper- Ginny's baggy jumper, a tourist thing she had bought on one of their days trying to be 'normal people' and get away from all this. It sloshed against his t-shirt, settling in to the warmth of his stomach. He wrapped his arms around it protectively, cradling it like a pregnant woman.

Molly greeted Hermione next, like two mothers whose children had just had a playdate. Molly gave her a questioning look only she could decipher and she nodded reassuringly, tilting her head to one side. Harry didn't try to decrypt their unspoken tongue, trying to understand women only ever made his head hurt.

The reunion between mother and children was much more sober. They hugged her individually, and for a very long time. George was last. When Molly saw him, her eyes welled up and she bit back a tortured smile.

It was rare to see George cry. Of course, he had cried at the Funeral, and the wake the Weasley's had held after for their own, personal dead. It was not uncommon, either, to hear him crying out in a dream. But conscious, public crying even in front of the fragile and broken inhabitants of their grief-ridden abode was rare if not inconceivable.

When Harry saw George break down and cry in front of his mother, he had to look away.

Which didn't stop him hearing.

"It's alright mum, don't feel bad."

"I'm sorry Georgie, it's just... You look just like him..."

Molly stayed for tea. Ginny put the kettle on and everyone tried their best to look domestic and capable. Harry hadn't found a moment to stash the firewhiskey anywhere, so it sat in his lap under his jumper, cold glass pressing into his abdomen.

Molly had brought the real world with her. She gave them news of the Burrow, of the Hogwarts restoration, of proceedings at the ministry. Arthur had his job back, he had gone back to work last week, everybody was being _awfully_ nice, which he bloody well deserved after all he'd been through in the last year-

The following silence was awkward until it wasn't, and Harry chuckled.

"Imagine if they'd really put me in Azkaban for using that patronus charm," he mused.

"Or if they'd arrested you for Cedric," Ron added. Suddenly the room was filled with stories of Ministry incapabilities and idiocies. Fudge was berated for his incompetence, Scrimgeour even more so. Once Molly got started she could hardly stop, recounting stories of unqualified Ministers and staff that Arthur had had to deal with throughout their marriage, stories which, now that her children were no longer children, she peppered with rude remarks and dirty tid-bits until the room was filled with roaring laughter.

"...so my poor husband, bad enough with words as it is, has to explain to the troll his boss is boinking that these particular muggle artefacts hardly deserve the incendiary treatment she has in store for them and she should just leave the cabbage children alone!"

Harry was laughing too hard to correct her, _Cabbage Patch Kids, Molly,_ and beside him Ginny thanked him for leaving her mother the dignity, squeezing his leg under the table. The bottle shifted in his lap, not altogether due to intentional movement.

"You're looking skinny, Ronald," Molly sighed as Hermione cleared tea and brought out bread and a series of cheeses and spreads for dinner, "all of you are. Why don't you come home? I can get some more meat on your bones."

The group exchanged a look. It was true, nobody's clothes quite fit anymore (although Harry would protest that his clothes had _never_ fit), but their dinners were getting larger these days. Some Sundays Hermione had even gone so far as to prepare a roast. Eventually, all eyes settled on George. He looked reluctant and worn. He didn't want more days of sobbing into his mother's arms. He didn't want to go back to the house he and Fred had grown up in, where they had concocted their first plans, their first pranks, their last ones...

Hermione was the one to speak, when the decision was made all but two seconds after the offer had been posed.

"I think we all need a little more time Molly. Stuff like this, it's taking a little getting used to."

"Of course," Molly nodded, trying to conceal the hurt she felt from being rejected by her children. "I understand. But come to visit, ok? Your father misses you." She rose to leave and Ginny asked her to stay. "No, I'd better go," she insisted, her voice quavering. She wanted to go because she didn't want to cry in front of them, but they pretended not to know and she pretended they had believed her blatant lie.

They returned to their game when she was gone, though everyone was less interested in the outcome. The sun had set long ago, but they kept searching for reasons not to go to bed. Ginny rifled through the cupboard next to the old television set and found VCRs of Marylin films, so they all settled down together and watched _Some Like It Hot,_ revelling in the unaffected comedy of a man in a dress.

Harry caught George staring at the window, his face illuminated by the flashing screen. In his reflection, he patted his long hair down over the hole where his ear had been. He turned his head from one side to the other. With his ears concealed, Harry realised, he was almost indistinguishable from his late twin.

When the movie ended, teeth were brushed and bodies were clean, lemon-fresh and pyjama clad, Ginny knocked on Harry's door and crawled into bed. He pulled her into the crook of his arm and propped himself up with pillows, kissing the top of her head.

"Weird seeing mum today," she confessed. Harry agreed.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah it's just... It's like I just remembered there's a world out there. A life to get back to. I don't even know what I wanna do." Harry shifted so that he could look at her face, something like pride in his eyes. "What?" she asked.

"You're just amazing," he shrugged. She punched him playfully in the stomach and he buckled, sliding down into the pillows and turning to face her.

"You're ready to talk about this now? About after?"

"I think so," she nodded, "it's bugging me now. Sooner or later the summer's gonna end and we're gonna have to give up Ivy House and move on. Hermione's gonna go back to school..."

"She said that?" Harry asked.

"Please," Ginny snorted, "have you met the girl? As if she'd give up the opportunity to sit the most prestigious wizarding exams." Harry laughed in agreement. "I think I'm gonna go with her. See everyone, finish off my education, play quidditch again..."

"Quidditch?"

"I was really getting good before everything started happening. McGonagall said she might even get a scout out to one of the matches, we just never got around to having any." Harry huffed, impressed.

"Shit, Gin, that's amazing!"

"Could be," Ginny shrugged, "it'd be nice to find out."

The two spoke about their futures into the early hours of the morning. It was amazing, Harry had never fully realised the extent to which he held back from speculating about what he would be, where he would end up, what he wanted from life. He had always assumed it would be asking too much to expect that he had any sort of future at all, what with a price on his head in the shape of a lightning bolt. But now, with Ginny in his arms, he felt as if he could do anything.

They stopped talking for a while, just looked at each other.

Before they knew it they were asleep. Neither of them had nightmares that night.


End file.
